


Introverts

by Michiko_Fukanzen



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 2p America kinda, 2p China kinda, 2p France kinda, Abandonment, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Attempted Murder, Cheating, Dark Past, Depression, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, FACE Family, Family Dynamics, Family Fluff, Gangs, Growing Up, Implied Spain/England, Implied/Referenced France/Jeanne, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Multi, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Multi, Murder, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Past Incest, Past Relationship(s), Schizophrenia, Self-Harm, Sexual Content, Sexual Humor, Sibling Incest, Social Anxiety, Suicide Attempt, Teen Pregnancy, This has a happy end I swear, Underage Sex, Underage Smoking, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 01:35:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3190901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michiko_Fukanzen/pseuds/Michiko_Fukanzen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> This is not a love story. Not the classical term anyway. No, sir. It's an adventure! A band of misfit soldiers off to battle describe our heroes. The homo, the druggie, the nerd, and the nymphomaniac. In a world of sadists and murderers, artists and musicians, deviants and flunkies, well... Their journey is just beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Introverts

The swollen orange sun breaks over the misty town of Aliados, New York, just on the brink of New York City. Snow glistens peacefully, as if an undisturbed blanket, covering the waking town, oblivious to those already strolling to and fro tending their business. Birds chirp contentedly, seemingly unaware of those deafened to their song by the struggle of morning haze and caffeine shortage. Their shrill tunes act as overbearing alarms to the intoxicated, pulling them from warm beds soaked with traces of liquor and adultery. In the fresh glow of melted gold, sin blurs with innocence, to an almost unrecognizable extent, and life moves on in silence and secret. So is life as it should be and as it's always been.

Not that Francis ever paid attention to these things. It wasn't in good taste.

Not that good taste mattered. Did those with exceptional taste buds chose to spend their day leaning against the cold brick walls of an institutional prison smoking a joint? Likely not.

At least he wasn't lonely. Three others stood with him, mimicking him as perfectly as mirrors, albeit the joint. With eyes half closed, half glazed, they lean stiffly against the hard exterior of the local high school, trying to block out the December chill. Their breath mists in front of them, mixing with the thick clouds of smoke issuing from the foul, burning, instrument. 

Francis hardly even notices when a shaking hand pulls the smoking tube from him, administering it to himself. Not that Francis minded sharing. Not with his family anyway. Besides, God knows the shaking Canadian to his left needed it more.

"Je suis desole, Francis..." the boy mumbles through clenched teeth. He takes a long, slow drag, eyes rolling back into his skull, and relishes the taste. Francis chuckles softly, patting his shoulder reassuringly.

"Tu n'es pas desole. Enjoy, Matthew." The aforementioned gives a look of pleasured relief before greedily devouring the putrid fumes. Francis smiles. Such simple relief for such a complicated person.

Breaking the hazy silence, the figure just past Matthew groans loudly, as if terribly annoyed by the nothingness. He kicks at the snow and whines like a child. "It's cold as balls out here! I wanna go home!" His glasses fog as he continues his miniature rampage. Matthew chokes on his most recent drag, crashing down from his high. Nothing like the striking voice of his brother to blow their (shitty) cover.

"Shut up, Al! We're going to get caught!" Matthew tries to hush the pacing American, only to receive a half-hearted shove.

"You know what? It's HER fault we're here in the first place," the wild blond gestures wildly to the person leaning on Francis's right shoulder. "If she didn't want to get caught, she would have let us stay home like I suggested!" his voice raises impatiently. Matthew's breathing grows erratic, on the edge of panicked hyperventilation. Francis notes the fear in his eyes, and nudges the (supposedly) anemic girl on his shoulder. However, she is already moving towards the raucassious boy. With quick, sharp movements, she has him pinned against the wall once more.

"For the love of all that's Holy, Alfred, shut your goddamned mouth before I shut it for you," she whispers, but coveys the fierceness of a shout. "You're giving Matthew a heart attack." As if on cue, Matthew chokes yet again as Francis rubs circles into his back. Alfred is still fuming, though.

"Why the Hell are we here then, if we're not going in?" Alfred demands, staring deep into the opposing emeralds. Outside, answering is not an option. Inside, it is.

Alice Kirkland is a fairly steady entity. She knows exactly what she wants and how to get it. Straight-forward, smart, and attractive decorate her impressive rep. However, she doesn't know how to handle people without aggression and occasional violence. So, she avoids sociality in school... Or school all together (but only sometimes). However...

"I-I care about my conscience! If I show up at school on days we skip, I can sleep easier," ('not that she sleeps a lot to begin with, thanks to me' Francis thinks lewdly) "Also, you three need to start building up more confidence in coming here! I can't keep making excuses!" Alice huffs, cheeks bright red. She draws her scarf tighter around her neck as a particularly bitter wind cuts through the group. Francis can't help but think about what they could be doing if they were not standing in the frigid air, but instead in the warm recesses of their bedroom.

Alfred rolls his eyes and checks his watch. 8:45. The bell for second period chimes loudly. The four crouch down to avoid detection. "You know what? We came. We saw. We froze our asses off. I'm going home." Alfred curses and hikes up the sloping snow bank and disappears in search for the car. Matthew struggles for a second, then runs off after his brother. 

Francis laughs, and pulls from his coat a jingling set of metal instruments decorated with a French flag. "The poor fool doesn't even have the keys," he sighs, leaning once again on the cold wall. Alice slowly joins him, glaring after Alfred. Francis pulls out a regular ol'cigarette and lights it, rushing it to his eager lips. Alice snorts in disgust.

"You'll get suspended again if you're caught with that on campus, you know." Alice mocks a stern look, even though her smile pervaded all pretenses. 

In turn, Francis mocks surprise and guilt. "Merde! I had no idea! Not after three previous times," he drops his act to take a small drag and blow the fumes into his companions face, eliciting a gag of surprise. "Now you're guilty, too! Besides, I don't mind being suspended. It means I could stay home and cook all day," (not like he does that almost everyday) "Plus, seeing as you're also guilty, you would have to stay home and make love to me all d-" Alice rewards her lover with a punch to the gut.

Groaning, Francis stamps on the remaining cigarette and regains his balance, then extends his hand to the dormant Alice. She glances up and down his lanky arm, from his playful smile to his frostbit fingers. "Come on, love. Let's go home. If you haven't noticed, it's quite cold. Don't worry, though. I'm sure we can find some creative ways to keep warm." Francis waggles his eyebrows suggestively. Alice blushes, glaring up at those sapphire oceans, that golden cascade, those white marble stones-

Oops. Popped into the mind of an Literature nut.

With one worried glance at the school, she sighs, and places her gloved hand in his bare one. He pulls her along, finding the car and a blushing Canadian jumping off the hood of the car, released by his now fuming brother.

As Alice, Alfred, and Francis argued, she kept her hand in his. All the way home. She'd given him that special squeeze. That special trace down his wrist. That look in her wicked green eyes.

Oh yeah. She also has some VERY creative ways to stay warm.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations~
> 
> Je suis desole - I am sorry
> 
> Tu n'es pas desole - You are not sorry
> 
> Merde! - Shit!
> 
>  
> 
> In case you didn't read the tags, this is one messed up fic. It started as something beautiful, and turned into a comfort fic for my messed up head. Pretty crazy up there, huh? This chapter is pretty tame, I guess, but it definitely will escalate. So... Yeah! Enjoy! (ps: there is no set schedule for uploading, so... Sorry)


End file.
